Stone Circle And I will sing a lullaby

He awoke, feeling a slight trembling in the earth. Faint though the vibrations were, they felt familiar and as if still stuck in a dream, Skáld walked out into the starlit sky and was drawn to the open plains near where the circle of stones reached up toward the heavens. It was not unusual for the boy to go sleepwalking, but he was surprised to find himself fully conscious as he meandered through the quiet sway of tall grasses. 

He reached a stone, and lay his head against it; through it, he could hear the rumbling again. And then, in the distance, he saw them. 

Massive yet majestic, the small herd of bison moved in the moonlight, their unsual, milky-white fur giving them a soft glow. He rubbed his eyes with a paw, sure that he must have been dreaming or hallucinating. 

The white boar.

It wasn't the white boar. It was something else, entirely. 

The herd moved slowly, pausing to graze in the peaceful valley, and Skáld stole away, returning to the den to press his cold nose eagerly against @Tauris' cheek with a soft whimper.

A single dream is doomed to repeat, children calling for her at the end of a maze of leaves and rivers of blood. Agile feet will sprint and turn infinite ground. One end becomes one beginning and on and on they will cry and she will race and never are they to meet.

A press of nose is an abrupt collision to steal her mercifully from that place.

“Back to sleep,” comes a groggy mumble, but his silken note stirs her anyway and eyes open to his eagerness. There’s a frantic sweep to her paws, a barb of anxiety as she looks Skáld over.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

He whined when she insisted on him settling down, and licked her cheek again, until her bright eyes opened and widened, to see the urgency he regarded her with. His tail waved immediately, and he flattened his ears to apologize for seemingly having distressed her. "Come!" He whispered excitedly, eager to show her the migration of unusual creatures that were silently, peacefully, passing through their territory as if in a dream. 

He exited their denspace, and shook out his pelt, loosening a few tangled curls. When he moved forward, it was with a lowered stance, but an eager bounce to his step still, hoping they might return to the clearing with the stones to find the herd still present.

There’s a thrill in his invitation, successfully piquing her own curiosity, but as she rights herself she's immediately hit with a wave of debilitating nausea.

“Damnit,” she moans and swallows back the need to vomit right here in the den. She pins his retreating little form with a tightened smile and soldiers to her paws.

“Right behind you,” comes a call, as she slinks to keep pace. The night is tranquil with silence, a clear sky and bright moon bathes their dewey field in a glistening pale glow. She yawns and catches up with Skáld, giving his rump a little bump with her nose before coming up alongside him.

“What’s this about?” She whispers but behind her a tail stirs. He's excited about something- and that makes her excited.

He didn't notice the way she'd had to stop and swallow hard- he'd already pattered on ahead, and flicked an ear back when he heard her call out, reassuring him that she would come with him. He whined eagerly, and waited for her to catch up, sensing somehow that something was off, though willing enough to assume that she was likely just tired because he'd decided to rouse her in the very middle of the night. 

"Shhhhh," He coached quietly, bobbing his head to cue her forward. He didn't want to give away what he'd seen- but when he moved ahead, it was with a lowered posture, ears flicked back. They could use the rolling hillside to their advantage, but he knew as soon as they reached the stone circle, they would be more exposed. 

The stone appeared in the distance, lit gently by the moonlight. He could hear and smell the bison now, and looked to Tauris to gauge her reaction. Still out of sight over the horizon, the greatest surprise was yet to be discovered. Bison were one thing- but a whole herd of moonlight-silver bison was quite an event.

Her eyes blink out their weariness, her tread matching Skáld’s careful course. The night is warm on her skin and she raises her muzzle to take a settling breath. And she smells it- something like a memory having long ago faded to time.

“Tatanka,” slips her native tongue and she cuts a path with her nose through the tall grass, coming to the crest of a low hillock and pressing herself fast against it. Her mouth breaks in excitement, she shares a dazzling look with Skáld then searches the night.

The herd passes among the stones, equal in impression and spirit. But something sets them apart from others, a phenomena like she’d never seen- their pelts blatantly pale as newly shed snow.

“They’re… beautiful,” she breathes, caught in amazement and disbelief. White bison. She falls silent.

But it’s with a growing hunger.

She stares at the passage of the beasts, eyes roving over the muscles in their chests, the slow power of their strides, the heavy allure of their aroma as it brushes at her nose. It’s an incomparable bounty. It’s meat that would feed the pack for months. All mothers, and their cubs, even neighbors, too, if they shared it- if she raised that howl and rallied the pack.

"Tantank?" Skáld asked quietly, intrigued by the novelty of the word. Something about the way she spoke the word made it sound different; it felt even more natural for her to say than it did when she was speaking to him in English. In the same way he was more fluent and comfortable speaking in Icelandic, she'd slipped into a language that seemed to come from earlier memories. It had never occurred to him that English might be her second language, too. 

He would regard the grazing bison with awe, though the expression faded when he turned to see Tauris' face once more, only to recognize the look of hunger on her features. Eyes narrowed, lips lightly parted, as if she was scanning the herd for any sign of weakness. He fretted silently as he looked back toward the herd. Were all herbivores nothing more than food? He disliked hunting enough already, and he'd hoped the spectacle would be something they could appreciate together. 

Carefully, he lifted a paw to place it over hers, to command her attention. Silently, he shook his head. 

No.

He begged with his eyes.

Not these ones.

His touch, a little umber paw is the mediary between instinct and heart. A deep red spark desires this kill. Her restraint is a shudder advancing along her spine, poised to take action. Her mind rationalizes that this is a rare chance to sustain them through the summer. She’d seen Gunnar’s concern, it was the first look that passed over his face when she’d told him of her pregnancy. This was her mitigation. Her own ache of belly roared for it.

But it’s the boy’s emitting fear, his quiet touch that begs her to reconsider, and while the hunter protests she’s pulled by the heart away from her impulses. She glances into his cold dread and sighs, lifting her arm just so she can drape it around his shoulders and tuck him between her arm and chest.

“I shall have to eat you then, my sweet,” her whispers purrs into his ear as she nips the edge of his cheek.

“Tatanka,” she repeats against Skáld’s ear. “Buffalo. What is his name in Icelandic?” She tempers herself beside him, focuses less on their scent and more on their gentle graze. Placid in the way they bend silently to the grass, their horns bowed like curled edges of a tree, moonlit outlines fixed as brothers of the stones. What has brought them here, she wonders?

“Have you seen him before?”

When her features softened, his fear lifted. He looked back toward the pale beasts, hoping that in sparing their lives, he might in return receive some favour, in some other way. As a predator, it was likely not the best instinct to have, given the fact that he would need to eat, and he needed meat in order to sustain himself. But there was a majesty to the creatures that felt as though they ought to be considered sacred. 

"Tatanka," he said softly, appreciative that she was sharing her language with him. To her question, he responded "Buffall," He said, with a sheepish smile. It didn't deviate too much from the English word, save for how the end of the word was pronounced, where there was a slight roll of the back of his tongue. 

With something akin to regret, he looked toward the grazing beasts again, and nodded, though the gesture was uncertain. "In dream," He answered. He wasn't sure if what he'd seen were dreams or visions, or some side effect of the seizures he used to have- but more often than not, he'd envisioned white boars, white deer, and white bison. "And white boar...It mean...Mother, I think." He'd come to relate the two as his seizures had come and gone, as had the visions- as had his mother. He thought of her now, when he finally saw the pale grey herbivores moving quietly through their packlands. "Do....Not know what means....White buffall. White tatanka." Would it mean his father was going to come home? Or was it something else completely?

Mother.

Her heart is frayed. She fixates. Profound love is what every newborn child holds for their mother. Now this boy, forgotten by his own, knows profound pain.

It infuriates her that a woman could come and go twice over, one who mourned for Bjarna but spared not a single word to the child she birthed- the boy who was so clearly calling out in grief and tenderness, and for a love he never would obtain.

And it echoes now, how he lives with so much fear that might always stay and dictate his choices. How grief haunts him.

Sanja never deserved Skáld, she will think as she listens to his soft explanation. There is not a way she could know, or undo his pain of abandonment. But she could try to understand; she could listen.

“Do you miss her, Skáld?” She asks quietly, while watching the silver grazers beneath their earthlight sheen. "Tell me what you feel?"

He grew quiet for a moment when asked a question that had only complexity for an answer. He knew a longing, and a grief, and the fear of being left alone again- but that was what he felt when he thought about his mother. He knew he should miss her, but she often came and left him feeling that way.

Glum, he slowly shook his head. ”No. She leaves.” He said, setting his head down on his paws. He couldn’t miss someone who was now only associated with pain. ”Feel…Alone. Not wanted.” He explained quietly.

Every word is like a stab. She holds him in her arms, lowering her nose to his cheek. He is not hers, not by blood. Though in her own way, irrevocably. Stronger than coincidence or circumstance or birth.

“When we’re born we’re stuck with what we’ve got. Sometimes family can disappoint you. Sometimes they aren’t there for you when you need them. But it doesn’t have to always be that way. You get a choice, now, about who your family is. You’ve got people in Kvarsheim who care about you. You’re not alone and that’s not ever going to happen again. Even if I have to go for a little while, I’ll always come home to you.” She loved him, and as far as she was concerned, that’s what makes a true family. She cradles him against her heart and the cooling evening air.

“Buffall,” she will murmur into his cheek, “They look peaceful, don’t they? Content. Strong. They seem to know where they’re going. That is the life I want for you.”

She spoke, and he listened. From her words he took some reassurance. It sounded like she was trying to explain something to him, something that should make him feel perhaps a bit less alone. Maybe she wanted him to believe that this was simply the way of life- that wolves created you, loved you, and left. But her tone was too sweet, too gentle…He felt certain she was pledging to him that she would never leave him behind. 

She did say “I” and “Go” and he tended lightly, before he moved closer as if to beg her to stop saying those words. 

Maybe it was time for him to stop begging others to stay; perhaps it was time for him to distance himself, so it wouldn’t hurt so much when they left. But for Tauris, it was already too late- he lover her more than he could even articulate in his own language. 

She mentioned the buffalo, but then said “you.” He looked up, concerned. ”Buffal….Move, roam. Skáld stay.”

She sighs and catches him in a tighter embrace.

“Roaming’s not so bad, Skáld. You know that’s how I found Kvarshiem? It’s ok to go exploring, doesn’t mean you can’t come back home at the end of the day.” She meets his eye, but never certain what he understands. And if he does, what he thinks of light attempts made to expand his world. It’s something she knows she needs to get serious about- but how much can she do with pups coming?

“Besides, you get to meet a lot of new wolves, too. Don’t you think it’d be fun to have a couple friends your own age? Kvarsheim is beautiful- but heim is the people, not the place. Like you,” she gives his crown a kiss and pulls back.

Maybe she’s not doing a good job of this. Maybe she succeeds only in adding to his trauma. Maybe what is right for Skáld is to stay here and she is just pushing her own ideals unfairly onto him. She wished she had a sounding board in this, some way to know if she was getting this right.

Her explanation made him think she was encouraging him to go exploring. For a wolf as poor at hunting as him, he felt it could be a death sentence. He’d been lost, once, and she’d seen how poorly he had done. He wanted to believe her that exploring could be good, but he felt it would be good only for wolves like her- wolves who had been raised and loved and taught. Skáld was too dependent, like a rescue that turned out too tame to ever be anything but captive.

”No. Skáld no roam.” He insisted, sadly. ”Heim is Kvarsheim.” He hoped she would not be disappointed in him for his lack of ambition, but he felt too fragile and inexperienced to risk his life for an adventure.

She can’t help but smile at those green eyes and the way they look at her so serious, so sweetly. Even when she worries. She wants him to feel stable, like he will always have a place in which he is allowed to fail and where he will always be caught and loved. But he must too learn to accept that change. Things can’t stay as they are forever.

Idly she runs a paw over her swelling belly. Spirits, this shit is exhausting. Please, let there be only one. She doesn’t know many she can handle.

“Ok,” she relents, “But if Skáld no roam,” she considers him, pulling him with her as she plops onto her side, “ then does he really need these legs?” She catches a back leg with her teeth and nibbles. “I’d like dinner with my show.”

Let him be a child.

Let him laugh and play and let tomorrow be for worries.

He would have been completely unaware of her situation had she not drawn attention to herself. He flicked an ear when one of the bison lowed, but his gaze remained on her side, just behind her ribs. 

Tauris was too active to put on that kind of weight- but he had seen Taktuk when she’d been pregnant. And while Tauris showed very little, Skáld saw her every day- and knew her usual curves and shape. He felt a little bit bewildered. 

”Tauris?” he asked, lifting his gaze, finally.

She’d been nervous before about how he might handle the news, but seeing how quickly he’d taken to the alpha’s pups, how naturally he assumed the role of big brother, her fears were beginning to allay. Still, she is sensitive as she follows his eyes to her belly and then back to her face. She reaches for his hand to hold it there, that he might be led to understand despite the language.

“Yes. Children,” she whispers, eyes focusing on his face, paw pressing over his.

Her's. Fig's. They would belong to Skáld, too, as he belonged to her.

His leg is released, but drawn toward her belly where it swelled slightly. He stared with disbelief, watching as with every inhale of breath she took, her sides lifted and fell. He could feel her anxiety, but felt warmth beneath his paw pad when she pulled it to her side. He could faintly feel her heartbeat there, and faint gurgles as well.

Children? His brow lifted. He loved Gunnar’s children, now that he knew what it was to have little siblings. He felt glad that Tauris would have them as well- though he wondered where that would put him. 

Gunnar was his father- and now he had siblings. But Tauris…What would he be to her children? He still did not think of her as a mother, but as something very close- the way he had felt about Bjarna, perhaps…But more possessive. Naturally, he was conflicted.

”Who is father?” He asked tentatively.

“His name is Fig. I’d like for you to meet him,” she whispers warmly, though it is not without defensiveness brewing under pelt. She isn’t sure she wants to share Skáld with a man who wouldn’t see him the way she does. When the pups were here and the pressure was upon him to be a father in earnest- would he stay?

Fig had committed himself to her. But it’s a torturous doubt still to place so much trust into someone she hardly knew. Every moment she was waiting for something to go wrong, or to awaken in the morning to find him gone. Though, this is nothing she wants to put on Skáld.

And oh, how could Fig not fall in love with him too?

His face shifts with concern but he does not look unaccepting. He is not turning from her, and she thinks perhaps it is one sliver of success that he believes her enough to know he will never be replaced in her life. She gives his paw another soft squeeze over her stomach before drawing her face nearer to his.

“Brothers. And sisters. Your’s.”

Maybe it would not define who they were to each other. But he would know he is family to her, more than any had been.

His eyes narrowed slightly. Fig was not the name of a wolf he knew, which meant that Tauris had met someone else. He felt sour, jealous, and felt his cheeks and throat burn. Someone else had courted Tauris, without him even knowing. It wounded him further to reflect on the promise she had made- that she would not go off and have children. That it would be them- only them. 

He wondered, then, if this meant she was choosing to have her own family. Whoever Fig was, he was unwelcome. Skáld wanted Tauris to himself, and it was only when he thought of how jealous he was of this Fig that he realized his feelings ran much deeper than something familial. 

It felt wrong to think of Tauris’ children as siblings when he held her so dearly in his heart. He was far too young to have children of his own, but now a boundary was placed between them that made him feel hopeless. He felt ashamed for not realizing sooner where his heart pulled. Growing up without blood family had often pushed him to accept others as his family but Tauris…Tauris evoked something much deeper within him. 

And yet while it broke his heart to realize she had chosen someone else, he could not pull away, even though he wanted to. His heart felt as if it was bursting from the pain, and he did what he could to stuff it, bury it deep within his chest but oh, how it ached. 

Knowing he could not (and should not) explain, there was little he could do but bury his head against her side and sob in agony.

“Oh, Skáld,” she feels sick, pressing him into the circle of her arms as the force of his tears rock them both. It is too much for him. Maybe she should have told him sooner, but she’d only just found out herself.

“I know it’s a lot of change,” she soothes with a gentled voice, “I’m scared, just as you. But it could be fun, too, to have puppies around.” She lowers her chin over the curled locks behind his ears.

“And I need you in this, can you try for me?”

Part of him wanted to be held closer, but part of him wante to push her away. It didn’t seem fair for her to hold him closely when she’d chosen this Fig man to be the father of her children. At the same Tim, he was too desperately dependent on her to simply brush her off.

Of course, children would be an adventure. But he did not know or trust Fig. 

”Fig won’t want me, here.” He said, obstinately.

“If that’s true then I won’t want him here,” she soothes, and she meant it. She’d been clear with Fig about her devotion to Skáld, that a relationship with her meant also one with the boy, too. She knew Fig was hesitant, but he wasn’t outright dismissive and the Nornir was hopeful she could find a way to make this all work.

“It is fair to give him a chance, don’t you agree? Besides, he’s very sweet, just like you.” There is some secret part of her who wants to see Fig as a sort of secondary father figure to the yearling, though she knew better than to press for anything.

“You will get along, I am certain of it. I want us all to be together,” she whispers into his fur, merely a wish.

While he knew he should trust her, he couldn’t do so completely. She’d already promised him once before that she wouldn’t go out and find a way to make herself have children- but she had anyway. She’d come back, but it was of little solace to him now to know that she had left him behind to go and find whoever Fig was. 

Part of him wanted for Fig to hate him. Then he could test to see if she meant what she said- and push him away so that he would not be there to take her time and love from him. He felt he could weather the surprise of there being children, but only as long as Fig wasn’t there too.

He burned with jealousy. ”Not like me.” He insisted bitterly. If Fig had been exactly like him, then she wouldn’t have gone off to find another one. She already had Skáld, but it was becoming obvious that that wasn’t enough. She wanted more- and while it was totally fair for her to want that, it made Skáld feel very bitter to find himself feeling replaced yet again. 

”You said…” He began weakly, with a sniffle. What he wanted more than anything in the world was for her to forget about Fig and just keep her promise to him.